Evanescence
by insanity-controlled
Summary: After the war, Duo sinks himself into a nightmarish world of his own doing. But when Drugs and addictions get involved, will the other Gundam pilots come to help him. I own none of the characters from GW but if i make any of my own characters NO STEALING


Authors note: Okay, this is my first fanfiction that I'm putting out there, and I would like a bit of reviews. This chapter doesn't state the character name, but most should be able to guess. This takes place about two years after all the Gundams have been destroyed. Warnings, I have taken a slight artistic license to Duo, having interpreted him this way. So warnings could be OOC characters, angst, and more to come.

Evanescence

Prologue

The noise of the city drifted in from the street, the sound slightly muffled, but still as distinguishable as if you were out on the street. The loud blaring of a radio came from one of the nearby apartments, the lyrics of the song unrecognizable, but the rhythm had a strong beat full of bass. Over that was the sounds of the vehicles that passed along the highway, the roar of engines, the screeching of tires, and the loud sounds of the horns that varied from one make of car to the next. Filtered behind the other sounds, the murmur of the actual city was broken.

But that was not the only sounds the reached into the inner rooms of the condemned building that stood broken and old on 66th street. Water dripped from the rotting floorboards, pooling in the cracked stone, and leaving stains in what parts of the roof were in tact. Small sounds of animals running through hallways and along walls were heard periodically, showing signs that though condemned, the building was not yet empty. But the sound that was most prominent to the one human that actually stayed in the hellhole was the whistling of the wind through the shattered windows.

A boy sat on the edge of a bed that was contained in a partially empty room. His form was bent over, his back arched, and his feet dangled precariously off of the mattress, if it was fit to be called that. The boy was wearing what appeared to be a ripped pair of blue jeans, and a torn black shirt with buttons up the front. He had a smear of dirt across his left cheek. His hair was tangled and dirty, and pulled back into an untidy braid. And once he lifted his head to stare at out at the sunset that was fast approaching, a pair of violet eyes seemed the glow in the twilight. Upon further inspection though, these eyes seemed to bare the secrets of one who had seen their own hell.

As if in a daze, the boy reached out and grabbed something that was lying under a torn blanket, hidden from others view. Drawing his hand back towards his frame, the scrawny boy reveled the item to be a piece of dull metal, its edges covered in what looked like a small amount of rust. Running a calloused fingertip across one edge, a thin rivulet of blood appeared, proving that the blade was indeed sharp enough to pierce skin. Shifting slightly so that the sunlight fell onto one of his arms that was now draped across his thighs, the boy bent over even more so he could see his wrist in greater detail. His body seem to seize up slightly, as if he was waiting for something to hit him, so the force of that blow would be lessened.

He lowered his right hand, and ran the edge of the metal across his left wrist. The cold rusted blade tore at his flesh, opening a fresh wound along the side of his wrist. He stopped momentarily and watched as blood slowly oozed from his arm. He lowered the blade again and continued drawing, a picture slowly forming in his skin. The boy drew in his breath, trying to suppress the urge to draw his arm away from the self-inflicted pain. A shape was slowly starting to appear, though it was blurred slightly by the steady stream of blood that was now pouring from the wound. Whipping the blood from his skin, the boy started again.

He drew the blade across his wrist.

He was standing in a deserted alleyway, full of sewage, trash, and all other forms of waste that made its way there. A thick fog of pollution hung in the air, making the scene hazy, and even less light was filtering in from the artificial light sources in the colony. From some corner of the alleyway, the smell of rotting flesh seemed to seep into the air, making it extremely hard to hold back the gag reflex. But the most noticing feature was the silence. Usually even some sounds drifted in from other areas, but it was shockingly silent.

Another pass was made with the blade.

The much younger version of himself walked forward, the sound of his shoes against the cement an unwanted disturbance. He was looking for something. He was turning around, looking behind him, making sure that no one was following him. When he was sure his trail was clean, the boy began to search the alleyway from top to bottom, leaving no corner or garbage can unlooked. As he passed each place with no luck in finding what he had come for, a stronger sense of dread began to well up inside of him.

Blood was once more covering his wound.

Finding what he was looking for seemed to rip a piece out of him more than not knowing where it was. Slumped against the side of a building was a ragged form of another child, though it was obvious that he was older than the boy. His blonde hair was now drenched in blood that continued down his frame to pool on the ground. But that was not the reason the shell of a human was dying in front of him. A harsh cough coursed through the frame of the boy, sending him into a fit of shaking. After the body calmed, the face of the boy lifted, showing a sweat-streaked face that was twisted in pain.

A tear mingled with the blood on the next pass.

Lifeless blue eyes stared out at the boy, sending a wave of shock through the smaller boy. Those eyes had once been filled with so much life, so much love for those like him. But now they were the same as all of the others he had seen that were hit with the plague that had killed most of the orphans. But he had not cared for them, they were just faces that he saw. But this boy was everything to him, and he couldn't just pass him by. The older boy seemed to sense the fear building up in the other, and his pale lips formed as much of a smile as he could muster. " I'll always be with you, physically or emotionally, I'm there."

Once more the blood needed to be cleared away before the boy could continue.

The blue eyes seemed to drain of anything that was left in them, and the smile fell from the boy's face. The smaller boy looked down in horror at the corpse that now lay before him. Stumbling backwards, the boy tried desperately to pretend that that had never happened, and his friend was hiding around a corner, playing another cruel joke on him. But as a strong gust of fake wind passed through the alley, making the boys long hair flutter around his small frame, the reality of it hit him hard. Turning from the sight, the small boy ran as fast as his legs would go.

He seemed to cut himself far to hard on the next pass, forcing himself to wince.

The only thing louder than the pounding in the boy's ears was the sound of his feet against the pavement. A deep void seemed to be growing inside his soul, throwing the small world he was living in into chaos. Closing his eyes as if trying to block out the sight of his dead friend, the small boy quickened his pace and turned into a run down building. Faces of other orphans passed him, but the boy gave no thought to him, the only thing that entered his brain was the escape he wanted so badly. Throwing himself down into a corner of the building, the small boy stared out at the darkness above him. This seemed like a lucid dream that was causing so much more pain than it should. And even then, a tear would not fall from his eyes.

Switching positions slightly, the boy began to make a line in the other direction. .

It seemed like he was destined to suffer pain. Staring out at the rubble of what was once a church, the young boy felt a sensation of dread welling up inside of him. The stones that littered the ground should be formed in a wall, and those shards of glass should be displayed in an intricate stained glass window full of angels. Picking his way trough what was left of his home, memories of a small time of peace flitted through his mind, pushing him forwards, giving him the will to look for something he knew he never wanted to see. But he had to find her, to put things in their place he could need to look upon her face once more.

This time he watched the blood trickle to the floor silently before whipping it clean.

He wanted to turn and run, run from the one sight that lay before him. But his feet seemed cemented to the ground beneath him. Her body was lying with the rubble, as if her worth was no greater that its. Her once joyful and kind spirit hindered by the nearly destroyed body that was coming to its end. Dropping to his knees, the boy looked down at the blood that was slowly trickling from her mouth, a sign that her life energy was being wasted even by the slightest breath. Feeling something clamp down on his heart, the small boy watched as she began to speak to him. Those words were filled with a content remembrance of the last hours of her life. He knew that the boy was replying to her, his words full of emotions. Regret. Anger. Pain. Sorrow. But he couldn't hear them, her voice long since lost in his memory.

Either he was losing too much blood, or he was getting used to the pain.

Looking down at her, the small boy inwardly shuddered. Deep with in her eyes, there was a slow darkening, as if part of her was being drawn away from the pain and into a realm of peace for the dead. Though he knew that she couldn't see the effects of it in her own eyes, the nun must have felt it happening to her. Confirming that notion, the blonde women reached a hand out to caress his face, his name falling from her lips. To push away the thoughts that came with the tone of her voice, he focused his violet eyes on her shaking hand. It had been so steady, strong, and unblemished as she had weaved his hair into a braid for the first time. But now, now they were like the glass of the stained glass windows, vulnerable and broken, toped with a layer of grim. The knot that the young boy felt grew to immeasurable levels, almost leaving him breathless.

He was going to need to rest soon, before he passed out and hurt himself more than he was intending.

Even though the words that were exchanged between the two of them before were never projected into the here and now, the next words that well from the ashen lips were something that would be burned into his brain forever. " May you…. Have Gods blessing…". And for a moment, time seemed to slow to an agonizing crawl as the hand that had been pressed against his cheek fell away. The boy was left watching as the darkness in her eyes encompass her being, drawing her away from the small boy and into the waiting arms of the god she had dedicated her life to. For one small moment, all that was and existed was the final moment of the women who had shown him that no matter what others say, he didn't smell, and that he was loved. Then reality came crashing down with a force unlike anything the small boy was ready for.

How easily his blood was staining that rusted blade.

Everything came back to him at once. The smell of blood and lingering explosives. The sound of humanity in the distance. The taste of dust in the air. And the sight of the women who treated the small boy as a son, and who was loved like a mother lying dead in the ruins of the Maxwell church. Even the pain building in his legs from resting against jagged rocks and shattered glass wasn't enough to distract him from the emotions that couldn't be stopped. Violet eyes turned dark and void looked upwards towards the space that he knew was just outside the colony walls. And then the knot that had wound so tight inside of him was released, bringing with it a scream from the small boys lips, filling the air with the sound of his agony. And then, the tears came, streaming unchecked from his eyes, pooled in the folds of his pants.

Working out a curve, the movement of the blade becomes much more precise.

Minutes, hours, days. People say that you lose track of time when something important happens to you, whether good or bad. Obviously the small boy didn't quite understand that till now. Once the tears had finally stopped and his screams of loss had died down to a constant murmur in his head was the boy able to direct his thoughts to something other than the corpse that was still lying beside him. Drawing what little strength he could spare from its hiding place in his mind, the boy pulled himself to his feet. As a slow, racking breath left the small boy shuddering in its wake, the braided child turned to stare at the women before him for a last moment of farewell. It was then when his keen eyes caught the sight of the shinning silver around the women's neck. Reaching down with a trembling hand, small hands grasped the cross that seemed unnatural in a place like this, its surface unblemished by the turmoil that it had witnessed. Pulling gently, the boy stole the cross away into a pocket of his clothing before wearily walking away from his last real home and once more into the streets. Even though she had given him Gods blessing, he would much rather have hers.

The image of the young boy seemed to transform slightly, turning into an image of the man on the bed, except his eyes still looked younger and it seemed he had clean clothes on his back. The image of himself brought a shudder to the one on the bed, something that he had been working hard to control. Gritting his teeth, the man placed the blade into a cup of slightly brown water, letting the blood filter through the water, leaving red swirls behind. A quick check on his work so far showed that it had turned out as he had imagined, the lines forming the image to the tee. Grabbing a small piece of gauze, the boy wrapped the wound before falling backwards onto the rag tag mattress. The blood loss had left him lightheaded, making him feel a strong need to sleep. Giving into the desire, the man fell asleep with the images of his childhood still vivid in his mind.


End file.
